


Finally

by Kizzywiggle



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Feelz, Fluff, I hate doing the tags, No Plot/Plotless, Nobody's surprised, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 04:21:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8518300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizzywiggle/pseuds/Kizzywiggle
Summary: I'm fairly sure the only reason Cass and Varric wind each other up as much as they do is because they fancy the pants off each otherThis is what I think happens when they stop fighting.*Edit* rating upped to M based on reader feedback.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gimmemocha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimmemocha/gifts).



> I wanted to try writing less-smutty smut, and this was written as an anonymous real-world scene until I realised that with some tweaks it worked with my headcanon for C+V. The after-sex bit was written just for them, though.
> 
> I've loved DA:I since I first read Gimmemocha's 'Two Weeks' two years ago and I've wanted to write Cass and Varric since the first time I played the game a year after that and heard them bickering. I love Cass, and as I can't have her, Varric is the next best thing. Ahem. :D
> 
> I hope this does them justice.
> 
>  
> 
> Written during a bout of insomnia, roughly edited. If you see any glaring errors, please tell me.

“So...what now?”

She's leaning into him and shouting almost, because following the Inquisitor’s return from Halamshiral, the Herald’s Rest is packed with what seems to be every soldier, cleric, clerk and resident of Skyhold celebrating the new alliance, and the level of background _rhubarb, rhubarb_ is starting to make reasonable conversation difficult. He doesn't mind; this close to him her scent is a subtle tease, he can see her eyes dilate when she looks at him, and the tender side of her breast brushes his arm as she moves closer. He smiles and presses into her side to reply at a lower volume.

“Up to you. Another drink? Or we could have something to eat?” He breathes out and notes her little shuddery responding breath with interest. They started the evening with the whole group around them, but by ones, twos and threes, the others have left until it's just Varric and Cassandra left, tucked into a dark corner of the Rest; him expansive and flirtatious, her cautious but not as rigid usual, both of them unnoticed by the crowd.

She turns to him, close enough to kiss if he knew that's what she wanted. He's fairly sure, but isn't doing anything without clear consent. She licks her lips and her eyes scan his face and the tavern behind him rapidly before she says, "We could go to my room?” Her eyes are simply huge in the gloom of the tavern, and he can just see the blush rising out of the neckline of her tunic to tint her neck and face.

“I'd like that a lot,” he answers her, and she smiles widely and scoots closer to him, placing her hand on his knee and looking straight into his eyes.

“May I kiss you?” she asks, and he nods, cheering inside, but he holds himself still as she leans down slightly and tilts her head before just brushing her mouth against his and pulling back again. She goes to pull her hand away from his knee but he covers it, and keeping eye contact, leans in to return her kiss.

Her mouth is soft, her lips flavoured with the sweetness of her drink and the salt of the snacks she's been nibbling. He licks her lower lip minutely and she inhales sharply before parting her lips and deepening the kiss. She's a wonderful mix of shy and aggressive, it’s intriguing as well as a turn-on, and as they kiss her hand, still on his knee, flattens out and slides fractionally up his inner thigh. Her tongue slides against his own, and she groans, a sound he feels in his mouth rather than hears.

He breaks the kiss. “Your room?”

She nods, and they stand and gather their weapons before leaving the bar for the torch-lit darkness of the courtyard. He takes her hand to tow her over to the armoury, dodging puddles and the odd chicken as they go. When they reach the heavy wooden door he tugs her down into his arms and kisses her again, both of them straining closer to each other in a tangle of arms, hands and tongues. It's passionate and awkward and funny, and when someone walks past them with a discreet cough they pull apart sheepishly and giggle like kids. 

The building is empty at this time of night, the fire banked and the furnace just a low grumble. Holding his hand, she tiptoes past the young apprentice asleep by the fire and leads him to the stairs. He climbs ahead of her and turns, sliding his arms around her and she stretches up to kiss him, wrapping her arms around his waist, her tongue sliding against his lips until he opens his mouth to respond. His hands curl over her shoulders and he clenches them just enough to squeeze her flesh lightly. They both gasp and suddenly the kiss takes on a different tone, something deeper and almost imperative running through them. He’s aroused properly now and pulls her into him so he can push himself against her and she mumbles something incoherent into his mouth and drops a hand down, stroking the length of his torso with teasing fingers until she cups his hardness. She rubs against him through the fabric of his breeches, and they break off the kiss to pull apart enough to look down to where she holds him. Her fingers flutter arrhythmically around his arousal, teasing him with the lack of pressure, and he thrusts against her grip in an attempt to gain friction.

She looks up, the challenge and fierceness which is so typical of her shining from her face in the red glow of the room. “Something the matter?” she asks dryly with a quirk of her brow.

He chuckles roughly and slides one hand around and down, shaping her breast through her linen tunic. Despite the thickness of the fabric he can clearly feel the hard point of her nipple against his thumb, so he rubs and laughs as she moans, “Do that again!” just as the fire pops and the apprentice rouses with a sleepy mumble to poke at it. “Maker’s breath!” she swears, ducking under his arm to pass him. “Come on,” she orders in an undertone, and leads the way up the winding stairs to her room. 

It’s pitch black, apart from the bright slice of moonlight spilling across the room onto the bed, but as the door swings closed they are left in a puddle of darkness by the door. He can hear their loud breath, feel the blood thundering around his body, and then there's movement of air against his skin and hears swishing fabric, the thunk of boots being toed off, the chink of her belt being unbuckled.. Stupidly, suddenly slow and confused, he moves his hands to pull his collar, but she is there and bats his hands aside, dragging them down the front of her body to her hips. He notes she is most definitely naked and then she’s kissing him again, only this time he can feel the vital warmth of her skin, the strength and leanness of her, and it’s like someone fired off one of Sparklers’ spells in a shower of light and sparks.

He growls and spins them round to push her up against the closed door. She squeaks and wriggles as her naked body comes in contact with the rough surface, and he slips his hands around so they are holding her buttocks while he presses open-mouthed kisses along her breast bone and over the muscled plane of her chest to the ample curves of her breasts. She keens, her hands winding into his hair, tugging as his mouth torments her breast. “Oh, Maker, yes!” she groans, and he licks and nibbles at her soft flesh while his big hands knead her backside. The pants and whimpers from her only encourage him and he moves over slightly to capture her nipple between his lips before sucking strongly and stroking her with his tongue. At her loud, wordless cry he slips one hand between her legs; she widens her stance to give him better access and he strokes her seam, parting her to find her hot, wet welcome. With two fingers he pushes in and withdraws, repeating the motion over and over as he sucks at her breast and she cries and gasps and moans her approval, tugging on his hair and bearing down on his hand, chasing sensation with instinctive demands. Her body grasps at his fingers, wetness coating him, and he can feel the beginnings of her orgasm and stops, leaving her almost there but not quite. “Wha-?” she says on a broken breath, but he’s dropping to his knees and lifting one leg to drape it over his shoulder.

As he kisses up the inside of her thigh, he uses his thumb to press hard on her clitoris, strumming and stroking, while she whispers pleas into the darkness. “What do you want?” he asks her, as if the feel and scent and movement of her body didn’t tell him: but still, he wants her to say it, he wants her to have control of this moment. If he were writing this, there would be pretty speeches and artful touching, but this? This rough, desperate tussling punctuated with broken sounds and low demands...this was real and infinitely better.

Her hips push at his thumb and she growls, the sound shockingly loud around them. “I want you. I want - no, I need to come. Please?” she sounds so plaintive, and it’s at odds with the very clear body language and the near-arrogance of her everyday self. He laughs again before using both thumbs, parting her and licking delicately at her clitoris. She responds with a jump and “Varric!”, once more grabbing his hair, pulling his face close against her. He follows her lead gladly, and uses his hands and mouth to drive her to distraction, licking and kissing her wet flesh as he pumps into her body with two curved fingers, thrusting hard until she screams out, squeezing and fluttering around his fingers as she comes explosively. She sags against the door and exhales a loud, shuddering breath, her leg sliding off of his shoulder. He pulls his fingers out of her and stands to rest them on her mouth. She opens for him and sucks her arousal from his fingers, tongue stroking over the sensitive pads with a faint rasp. 

He’s caging her in; one hand at her mouth, the other on the door by her head, and he pulls her down to bring their bodies in line so he can push his hardness against her. She crouches to better accommodate him and he feels her heat soaking through the leather of his breeches where their bodies meet. Her hands are on his chest, curling into his chest hair, toying with his waistband, and he backs off so she can unbuckle his belt and part his breeches, reaching in to slide her hand down the aching jut of him before curving her hand to encircle him and tease his weeping tip with the pad of her thumb. It’s his turn to growl, to beg with the movement of his body for more, and she draws her hand away. “Wait a moment.”

Three footsteps, soft on the wooden floor. A snick and a spark, then again, and a tallow candle flares to life and sees the room filled with a muted, off-white glow. The light shows him a flushed, satisfied woman, and she doesn’t move to cover herself, letting him look his fill. He looks up from her body to her eyes and holds her gaze as he strips himself. Once he’s naked he holds his hands out to the side and turns slowly for her to inspect. She hums a happy little not-tune of approval, and as he faces her again he can see the humour on her face, so he closes the gap between them and kisses her again, their lips the only point of contact between them until she kneels and he feels her once again shaping his erection with a deft grip, the callouses from years of daily sword practice a rough, dragging torment on his skin. He inhales. “Please?” he asks.

“What do you want me to do?” she asks, peppering tiny kisses across the width of his chest before nipping lightly at his tight nipple. He fists his hands at his sides and bites his lip. She looks up with a grin, one hand pulling and squeezing at him as the other reaches to stroke and tease his heavy sac. 

“Please...your mouth?” His body is tight, achingly hard with arousal, and he looks down as she leans slowly forward, her breath ghosting over his tight-stretched skin. She places one soft, closed-mouth kiss on his very tip before stringing kisses the entire length of him, interspersed with little licks and very, very gentle nips. The whole time her hands are still busy, cupping, squeezing, teasing him, and he plants his feet firmly on the floor to give him the purchase to push at her, a counterpoint to her movements, until she finally, finally opens her mouth to envelop him. She sucks strongly on his tip, pushing against the underside with her tongue as she sucks in a kind of milking movement. “Andraste… Andraste’s tits!” he curses, and she hums a laugh which he swears he can feel all the way to his toes, dammit! Her hands work in concert with the bobbing of her head, the draw and release of her mouth a delicious torment, winding his arousal higher until he begins to pant, twitching hotly against her tongue. “Stop!” he calls out, and she ceases, the air cold and a little shocking on his hardness where her mouth was so very hot…”I don’t want to finish yet,” he explains. “The bed?”

This time, when they kiss, it’s flavoured with both of them; salt and tang and musk in a heady bouquet on his tongue. Their hands rove freely. He finds she’s very ticklish at this level of arousal: she discovers he is almost obsessed with her behind, stroking and squeezing and manipulating the firmness of her flank. He can bring her to the brink of orgasm with just the right attention to her nipples, and his turn out to be very nearly as sensitive.

They tease and play for long minutes, murmurs and soft laughs emphasising their movements, until she pushes him down with her hands on his collarbone and swings her leg over his torso to hover above him. “Shall I…?” she ponders, and he arches, trying to join them, but she lifts up and evades him easily, giggling at the growl he emits. He pushes again just to hear her laugh.

“Yes!” he groans as he humps the air fruitlessly. “Maker’s balls, Cassandra, yes, please, now!”

She smiles and with one hand guides him into her. They both still, panting at the feel of it, wide eyed and waiting, and he holds onto her hips with shaky hands until she seats him fully inside and sits up slowly so he can feel the changing clasp of her inner muscles, the incredible heat and tightness of her body, and then...then she moves.

It’s such a very commonplace thing, this act; this rhythmic push-and-pull, the friction of two bodies chasing completion, but it somehow this time it feels different. He looks at her face, her eyes closed and her skin flushed as she rides him. He looks down to where she plucks at one stiff nipple; lower to where her other hand plays between her legs as she rides him; lower still to where he can just glimpse his own rosy flesh, wet with the both of them, as she rises and lowers over and over. 

He sucks in a breath and plants his feet on the bed to push up into her hard and she moves her hands to his shoulders to catch herself, tipping forward with a disgusted noise. “Really, Varric!” but then she stills, eyes wide as she notices the new angle changes the feel of their joining, making her body tighter about his, and he grabs at her hips as he pushes into her, faster and faster. Her breasts are almost in his face, a swinging, heavy temptation, his breath tickling against the sweat shining on them as she grinds back against him, and they both move furiously, straining together until he leans up to capture one nipple and suck hard just as she slips a hand between them,making a small movement he can just discern but which tips her straight over the edge with a shout.

Her orgasm is intense, and she clamps down hard on him, almost locking him in position, the deep contractions of her body triggering his answering orgasm. Sensation shoots from all over his body to gather at the point where they join until with a groan he grabs her backside to pull her down firmly as he grinds up hard and empties himself into her with a stream of muttered obscenities.

She collapses onto him, resting her head briefly on his chest before swinging her leg back over him and flopping to the mattress with a huff. “By the Maker! I...I…” 

For once, she has been silenced, his beautiful, angry warrior woman, and Varric smiles with pure joy. He rolls over to prop himself on an elbow, running his hand from her clavicle to her hip on slow sweeps while she calms. When she finally opens her eyes to gaze solemnly at him, he gives her his very best leer and an accompanying eyebrow-waggle. “Well, well, Seeker. Who knew you were hiding all of that beneath your armour?”

She growls. Maker, he loves that fierce sound of annoyance. He thinks she's probably aware of just how far he pushes her on a daily basis simply to hear her growl, but he's no intention of stopping anytime soon, for he knows how much she loves reprimanding him.  
He winks, and she growls again.

“You know exactly what I'm hiding beneath my armour, Master Tethras, and have done since The Inquisitor closed the rift at the Temple of Sacred Ashes! Do not be more of an idiot than you have to be, please.”

With a cry, he rolls to his back and clasps the region of his heart. “Oh! A hit! My lady has wounded me with the rapier-blade of her tongue, and I am unmade!” He throws one arm over his eyes and sighs with overdone drama, playing his crowd of one for all he's worth until the bed shifts and her low chuckle reaches his ears. 

He lowers his arm and peers up to see Cassandra sitting cross-legged beside him, the plait of her coronet down over her shoulder, her face soft with humour and affection. “Why do I put up with you?” she asks affectionately. “And before you say it, no, it's not your 'luxuriant chest hair'.”

Varric moves into a crouch before her, searching her eyes with unusual seriousness. He needs her to know what he's about to say is utterly genuine.

“I'd hope it's because you know how I feel about you,” he answered quietly. “Because you know the depth of my regard and affection. I hope?” He ends on a question, scanning her face for any hint of acknowledgement, and sees her eyes widen and her lips part.

“Varric, I…” She pauses for the longest time, and Varric feels the urge to be sick, but she sucks in a breath and speaks again. “Are you saying you...you love me, Varric? Or have I misunderstood you?” Her face is near-expressionless and he quails inside.

“That's exactly what I'm saying, Cassandra. I love you; I think I have since...probably that trip to the Fallowmire. I looked up and you were almost dancing as you struck down those bloody undead which seemed to be coming from nowhere - you were so powerful, so graceful, so completely and utterly at home in yourself. And I realised I loved you, just like that.”

She looks different, he realises: her face is as soft and unguarded as he's ever seen it, her posture softly welcoming, and she sways towards him unconsciously. Her hand, scarred, rough-skinned, unpretentiously functional, so like the rest of her, rises to touch his face softly. “Oh, Varric…” she smiles tremulously and tears well up and spill over as she speaks again. “I love you too. So much.”

There's a moment of perfect silence, like the world is holding it's breath, and then a door outside slams, someone shouts an oath, and the unmistakable racket of Sera, Bull and Blackwall singing an obscene ditty wafts over from Sera’s little cave above the Tavern.

Varric and Cassandra both laugh, and she leans her head down to rest on his shoulder with a happy sigh. He turns his head to press a kiss to her hair and rests his cheek on her head. “Well, now that's out of the way and neither of us are picking up teeth or other body parts, what do you say to getting some sleep?”

“Sleep would be good,” she agrees, and they curl up next to each other wrapped in the glow of something new and special.

***

The following morning when they wander into the Great Hall for breakfast holding hands and feeling very brave about it, Sera swears and flicks a coin to Bull, who rumbles “Never bet against a Ben-Hassrath about people things,” and laughs. Leliana looks up with a grin and has the temerity to wink at Cassandra, who blushes. 

And Cole drifts over from his study of one of Gatsi's mosaics to peer intently at both of them from under his long fringe. A broad smile crosses his pale, waifish face and he whispers one word: 

“Finally.”


End file.
